Never Go Against A Sicilian
by QuantumMelody
Summary: After a misunderstanding, Romano learns what it means to trust his intuition. Now he's stuck having to play hero for Spain... for once. Spamano


Hey guys, another fanfic! I'm just seeing if anyone would be interested in reading. A bit short for a chapter, but it's a start. I don't know if it's a good enough start to continue, but let me know what you think!

Rated for any language that might pop up and Spamano romance.

I don't own Hetalia~

To say that Romano was pissed was an understatement. Hell, to say he was furious would have been putting it lightly. No, he was _livid_. Absolutely and undeniably livid. Why? Well, there were a good number of reasons.

One, he woke up to find out that his cat had eaten the rest of his tomatoes... again. (What a weird cat, he couldn't help but think, preferring tomatoes over tuna.)

Two, a pair of his stupid brother's red underwear (god knows how they got into his house- and now that he thought about it, they were too big to be Feliciano's...) had gotten mixed into his white wash, so now all of his shirts were a pastel shade of pink. (Those were expensive, damn it!)

Third, he had tripped over his rug and hit his head rather hard on the door to the bathroom, only to shut it... with his curl trapped against the frame.

Fourth, after getting his hair from the door with much whimpering and tears, he had his lunch interrupted by a call from a very pushy, irritatingly stupid Spaniard; who had kept him from pizza for the asinine reason of wanting to visit him- during siesta time. For whatever reason he had accepted (it wasn't because he wanted to see him, damn it, it was just because the tomato bastard would whine otherwise), and had gone to meet him at a local park.

That lead him to his fifth reason for his anger. It had been three hours since Spain was supposed to have arrived, and no bright green eyes and curly brown hair was to be seen. And on top of that, it had started raining. Of all the times for it to rain... in the summer... in Sicily... it had to rain right when he was waiting outside.

With an irate sigh, The brunette nation once more checked his Bulgari watch (an expensive gift given to him by his boss in a time when the mafia had still been prevalent and such sucking up was needed in order for said boss to not be assassinated, or rather, whacked, on spot, but that was neither here nor there). Five o'clock. Spain was nowhere to be seen. Wonderful. Romano unceremoniously plopped himself on the edge of a nearby fountain, staring off into the distance, expression uncharacteristically forlorn. Despite the man's lazy demeanor... his once-upon-a-time caretaker was never this late... Actually, he was usually a rather punctual person, especially when coming to meet his "tomate".

Maybe he just didn't care to come... gotten sick of him like all the other nations did after a while. After all, there wasn't much to like about Romano. He himself knew that. He was bad tempered, crass, violent, rarely smiled or laughed... sure, he could cook, his voice wasn't something to sneeze at, and he wasn't half-bad looking... but all of these positive traits were in Feliciano. And on top of that, his brother was sweet, innocent, happy-go-lucky, and had the warmest smile and most adorable laugh. It was only natural that Romano would be left behind for his superior brother. Had Spain finally seen that and forsaken him? The elder nation had always seemed to favor cute little Feli over his unlikable brother...

Or maybe he had gotten into trouble. A car crash, or he tripped and was hurt. He could have choked on a tomato! That stupid spaniard bastard was dumb enough to get hurt in any number of ways!

In his younger days... when he had been small and alone, constantly waiting for spain to return to him, the elder nation had often come home covered in blood; his own and others. From war, from his travels to the new world, from sailing the sea... he had often been wounded. Even if he denied it, hid his scrapes and cuts and bruises from his little colony, Romano had always known. And even now, the dread of the spaniard injured and dying was constant, nagging the back of his mind and heart.

If something had happened to Spain, although Italia Romano would never admit it, he would not know what to do...

With this thought in mind, the irritable nation dug in his pocket, hastily withdrawing his phone from the fabric confines. Five ten. No new calls. No messages. No texts. Just the glare of the fact that he had called Antonio's cell and home phone twenty times, without response. He heaved a sigh, standing and running a hand through his soaked hair as if to leave. If Spain hadn't shown up by now, he probably wasn't going to show up, now would he? Why should he have to stand in the rain waiting for someone who hadn't bothered to even show up?

But... what if he had just been held up by traffic or something? That did happen... and he could have forgotten his phone.

Romano sat back down, pulling his knees up to his chest. Maybe he could wait... just a bit more. He couldn't just... leave before Spain came. Besides... even if he _was_ late, Antiono always came for him. _Always_.


End file.
